Dear Uptight Seattleite,

I’m pro-sex, bisexual, and GGG. I’m also a mother. I have a 14-year-old son, and when I type a Web site address into our home computer, a million porn sites pop up. I’ve had lots of lovers, watched my share of porn, I masturbate, blah blah blah. But I can’t stand the thought of my son looking at porn on my computer. Help me out here! Should I say something? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable! Should I make him stop?

Out and Prude

Dear Out,

A great teacher once said: A truly advanced being will find that the most arousing sight in the world is a waterfall. Contemplate it for a moment: a streaming mass of mountain rain, sparkling in the sun, drawn with irresistible force toward a crashing, foamy reunion with the earth. My point is that sexuality is best conceived as a disembodied force of the universe (especially if you happen to hit a five-year dry spell or two).

So here’s what you should do: Redirect your son’s enthusiasm for online voyeurism toward this higher spiritual element. Take him to a Japanese flower-arrangement demonstration on Mercer Island, where he can see a demure middle-aged Japanese lady erecting branches and lilies in an asymmetrical orange vase. Tell him, “Son, if you think about it, the flower sensei is really the greatest Asian slut of them all, for she so freely gives the world access to the beauty she has inside. Way, way down inside.” The far-off look you see in his eyes will be the evidence of your motherly success in taking control of his sexual imagination.

Congratulations to you as well, Prude, for your progressive attitudes. When calculating one’s own degree of sexual openness, counting the number of sex partners and frequency of porn consumption is a great start.

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

My boyfriend and I have an adventurous sex life. A couple of years ago, he fulfilled my fantasy of a threesome with two men, and I promised to fulfill his fantasy of a threesome with two girls. Now here’s the problem: I’m not attracted to any of our female friends. How can we find a woman without hiring a prostitute, which costs too much, or picking up some drunk girl at a club?

A Second Three’s Beyond Me

Dear Beyond,

I think maybe we should switch chairs because you’ve already figured out what to do—point out obstacles and urge further study! It’s like when I say to someone that we should have a beer sometime, and he says, ‘That would be great, how about a week from Thursday,’ and I say, ‘That would be great, except I have to rinse out my kayak that day, so let’s take some more time to think about another date.’ Or when someone proposes “doing something” about transportation, and so we set up a commission to talk about what to do about it. The rainy days of Black History Month may be far behind us, but I think it would be appropriate here to remember the words of Maya Angelou (or possibly Langston Hughes): “A threesome and/or viable surface option deferred is a threesome and/or viable surface option denied.”

Dear Uptight Seattleite,

For five years, I’ve been hiring attractive hookers to play with my penis and tell me how it could never satisfy them and basically humiliate me verbally. I now find myself in a “normal” relationship with a cute, relatively vanilla girl who I couldn’t possibly ask to satisfy my bizarre fetish. Any thoughts?

Small-Members Club Member

Dear Member,

What you crave is obliteration. And who doesn’t? I’m not sure if Freud said that or Jung. But I know if it was Freud, it’s bad, and if it was Jung, it’s good. Have you seen my 2007 Feminine Power of Yoga calendar? I think I left it around here somewhere. All those women from Cambridge, Santa Monica, and Bombay, their muscles so long and lean, their gazes so clear as they greet the morning sun while casually holding their left leg over their right shoulder with their left hand. They look capable of anything, if you know what I mean. To think of them is to be obliterated in your imagination. But real obliteration will have to wait, SMCM, for you and me both.

The real issue here is that your self-esteem is leaking out of your wee willie. You’ve got to learn to love what you’ve got. Reframe the question with some nontoxic acrylic paint around your swimsuit area. Paint yourself a mandala in all the colors of the rainbow, like a cosmic flower, the stamen of which will be your proud manhood. When you share this artistic vision with your girlfriend, all thoughts of despising you will be vanquished in the bright sunshine of your true self.

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